Silver and Tin
by winter machine
Summary: Inspired by the question of when Addison first saw Derek's trailer. Canon-compliant one-shot set in the present day. Addison-focused, past-Addek, other characters featured.


_A/N: _Hi, so I wasn't planning any sort of random Addek-inspired one-shot and then this one just happened. It started with a conversation about when Addison first set eyes on the trailer. It grew into this story, which moves back and forth from the past to the actual present timeline (Season ... 16 of Grey's, or at least the end of Season 15). It's canon compliant. I'm steadily working on updates to my WIPs (_Take Your Life and Light It Up _and _The Climbing Way _are both high up on the list) and I haven't abandoned any of them, I promise. Sometimes a kernel of story just grabs me and I go with it, so here this is.

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**..  
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**Silver and Tin**

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* * *

"_Derek … you do know you'll have to tell me where you live eventually." She leans against the wall, looking up at him._

"_And I will," he says with gritted teeth, barely concealed irritation. "… eventually. _

_He presses the elevator button a needless second, then third, time, acting like he can't wait to get away from her._

_She pushes off the wall and shakes her head. "You're just being petty."_

"_Better than being presumptuous."_

"_Petty and presumptuous," she recites back to him, propping a hand on her hip. "Sounds like the perfect match to me."_

_He exhales one of those short breaths she's been hearing a lot lately: half darkly amused and half … she's not sure she really wants to think about it. "Is that how it sounds to you?" he asks._

_Despite his sarcastic tone, she keeps hers light, a little teasing … like none of this matters at all._

"_I don't know, Derek, it's hard to hear anything over the sound of all this rain." She glances over her shoulder, out the wide windows at the grey misty view, then fingers one of her carefully set curls, watching him watch her. "Is the weather always this bad in Seattle?"_

"_The weather is great," he says, no longer making much effort to hide his annoyance. "Seattle is great. If you don't like it, I'm happy to give you directions to the airport so you can fly back to Manhattan."_

_He doesn't add "where you belong," or "on your broomstick" either, not this time, but the message is clear._

_She smirks at him like all this is very amusing to her._

"_I'm taking the stairs," he says. _

_She watches him walk away._

_In her car on the way to the hotel, she lets herself cry. Just a little, and by the time she sees another person it will be the next morning and a shower and some carefully applied makeup will keep anyone from ever knowing. _

..  
..

She gets the name, secondhand, from Amelia. The damn thing has apparently passed through three owners since she saw it last; the news surprises her.

"Did you think Meredith would keep it?" Amelia sounds slightly out of breath on the phone. She's always been a fast walker. Run and your past won't catch up to you; Addison knows the feeling.

"They got rid of it before – " Amelia stops talking. The bluntest Shepherd, she still doesn't say _Derek. _

She doesn't say _died._

She does say, _are you going to tell me why you want to know? _

"I told you. I was just curious." Idly, Addison starts picking up some of the stragglers from the day: one small sock, wedged between the couch cushion. That will be her daughter's, and the stuffed penguin on the carpet as well; Henry has always liked his things orderly.

"Oh." Amelia is quiet for a moment.

"Meredith liked it, though?" Addison tucks the penguin under one arm and rubs at an ache in the back of her neck. Why is she asking this?

"I guess so." Amelia pauses and Addison can practically hear her smiling. "God, I still can't believe you lived in that thing, Addie. You must have hated it."

She doesn't respond.

"I mean, I've seen the places you like to live."

Addison is busy on her phone now, googling the town Amelia named; Henry would be pleased. Any other search and he'd be helping her.

"It's kind of far from LA," Amelia says when Addison tries to end the call. She doesn't push any further than that.

"I'm going to be in the area."

"Oh yeah, you mentioned that. I can go with you, if you want," Amelia offers. "Drive out there with you. In case the guy's a murderer."

"That's sweet." Addison shakes her head. "But I think I'll survive."

..  
..

_Fresh off the marriage counselor's praise for their brand new compromise, she rests a hand on the beveled wall of the lobby and studies her husband's face._

_She can tell from his expression he's not going to make this easy for her – not now, maybe not ever – but she goes ahead anyway: "So … should we celebrate that progress of ours?"_

_She sees him flinch. She could shake him – you agreed to this, Derek, damn it, but she doesn't. She just waits for him to speak. _

"_What did you have in mind?" he asks finally._

"_Oh, I don't know," she purrs, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. The movement will send the scent of her shampoo his way; it's not a coincidence. "We could get a drink," she says slowly. "We could have dinner. Or we could just … ."_

_Her voice trails off suggestively, but he doesn't take the bait._

_She tries a new tactic, placating now. _

"_Come on, Derek, don't you think it's time to tell me where you live?" She looks up at him from under her lashes. "You haven't even told me anything about it." _

_No response._

"_Are we talking craftsman? Log cabin? One of those … environmentally friendly green cottage things?" She ticks off the options on one hand. "Just tell me. I can take it." _

_She waits for him to snap at her – she's being petulant, he might say. Pushy. Predictable. Presumptuous. He's called her more names since she touched down in Seattle than the rest of their relationship put together, and somehow most of them seem to start with a p. _

"_You already know where I live," he says, frustratingly._

"_I know you live on Bainbridge Island, Derek, but that's not exactly specific. It's sixty-five square miles," she protests. When he lifts an eyebrow, she shrugs a little. "It was in my Best of Seattle guide."_

_He just looks at her for a moment before he responds. "Almost two thirds of that is water," he says._

_It's a dismissal, Derek Shepherd style, but she doesn't take the hint. _

_She follows him to the parking lot instead, her heels loud on the lobby floors, and then on the pavement as they leave the building. He stops and then she does too. She can see his jeep in one direction, the zippy little car she leased two rows away._

_(They met here. She wanted to drive together, and he, as usual, wanted to refuse her. So they drove separately.)_

_She props a hand on her hip, brushing her trench coat open as she does. "Would it kill you to give me your address?" _

"_It might," he mutters._

"_Fine, Derek. You're right. I'm the one being ridiculous here. Let's get back together, I'll tear up the papers and move across the country, give up my practice, my patients, my friends, my home … and you can just keep – throwing in my face that you're the one who holds all the cards here, and – now what are you doing?" she asks uncertainly. _

_He's taken her arm and he's steering her toward his jeep._

"_Derek." She twists around to see his face. "What are you doing?"_

"_I'm showing you where I live," he says simply, releasing her and unlocking the passenger door. _

"_Wait." She stands there, feeling torn. "Right now? What, uh, what about my car?"_

"_What about it?"_

_She's fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "How am I going to get to work in the morning?"_

"_Did you assume you're spending the night?" _

_Her cheeks burn; his comeback was calculated to embarrass her and it worked. Did she assume that? Well … maybe. Presumptuous, that's what he thinks she is. Maybe he's right._

"_It just doesn't really make sense to go to Bainbridge … and then back downtown … and then back to my hotel," she persists. _

_Persistent – another p word._

_Derek groans, shoving a hand into his hair in the frustrated gesture with which she's all too familiar. _

"_Addison. You've been nagging me for weeks to show you where I live. I'm offering to show you where I live." He rests a hand on the jeep. "Are you coming, or not?"_

"_You know I am," she grumbles; it's not exactly easy to climb into the jeep in her tight skirt – chosen with him in mind, though she noticed him ignoring her legs in their counseling session. _

_He waits for her to click her seatbelt into place before he turns over the ignition. He always used to do that. She studies his profile and wonders if he regrets not breaking the habit._

_His face is so familiar even in the partial light of the dashboard that any sarcastic comment aimed at provoking him – there's another p word, provocative – dies in her throat._

_She reaches out instead to brush his leg with her hand, like she used to when he drove. He tenses under her palm, but doesn't push her away. _

"_Thank you," she says quietly. "I really do want to see your house."_

_He starts to say something, then seems to think better of it._

..  
..

She tells Jake she's going to be in the area anyway, just a few hours away, so she might as well stop in Seattle to see Amelia_. _

Which is tricky, because in this marriage, her current marriage, she doesn't lie.

Not anymore.

So she arranges for an actual consult, in Portland, with a former fellow of hers. It's the closest to Seattle she can manage on such short notice. And there she has it: instant _in the area anyway_, and Jake is supportive of the idea.

Of course he is.

He assures her the kids will be fine, and she knows without having to look that he's already had each of them craft handwritten notes for her – Henry's in pen, Josie's in crayon – and stashed in her suitcase just like always. He's thoughtful, her husband.

Always.

Jake insists on driving her to the airport, too, even though she would have preferred to take a car.

He parks instead of dropping her off, lifting her bags from the trunk and carrying them to the entrance so they can say a proper goodbye. This kind of thing would have surprised her at the beginning, but she's used to it now.

"Your fellows are lucky," he says as they stand in the sun outside the endless strip of revolving doors. The light reflecting off the glass is giving her a headache. "Not all mentors take as much interest as you do. I hope they know that."

She ducks her head against him, probably seeming embarrassed or pleased by the praise. Her husband's height is useful sometimes; their eyes don't naturally meet.

But she pulls back to look at him one more time, that handsome face, and raises her hand to touch his clean-shaven cheek.

"Don't miss me too much," she says, trying to sound like she's kidding.

"I will, though. We all will." He tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Oh – Josie said to tell you not to forget to bring her a present."

She smiles. "I never do."

"That's what I told her."

He kisses her one more time before he leaves. "Call me when you land," he reminds her.

She watches him drive away, standing outside in the glaring sun until she can't see him anymore.

..  
..

"_It's dark," she says, hearing the note of nervous laughter in her voice. _

"_Yes, it is." _

_Derek hasn't spoken much on the drive, as highway turned to roadway turned to … something else entirely. She's suburban raised and city bred and despite semi-regular forays to the country over the years this persistent, inky blackness isn't something she's used to. _

"_It's very dark." She pauses. "Are we … in the forest?"_

"_What do you think?"_

"_You don't have to be rude," she says before she can stop herself._

_He's clearly winding her up and she knows she deserves it, but it's dark. Very dark. Which means she doesn't have the wherewithal to fight him back._

_Fighting him is exhausting._

_She finds herself hoping that wherever his house is, it has a good-sized soaking tub. She's taught him that much, hasn't she, when it comes to the necessary luxuries? She could really use a bath. _

_A long one._

_Derek, meanwhile, is still silent. _

"_So it's rural, then," she says, adopting a purposefully bright tone. "Your place. Well, that's nice. You like the woods."_

"_I do like the woods." He maneuvers the jeep carefully; he must be used to these roads by now, but then Derek has always been an excellent driver, one of the very few skills at which she's willing to admit he outshines her. "You don't like the woods," he reminds her._

_Oh, she's well aware. But of course his moving out here had nothing to do with her. Nothing at all._

"_I could like the woods." That's what she says, trying hard to sound agreeable. Their marriage counselor would be proud. "I could like the woods, in the right house. The woods can be … cozy. Do you remember the inn we stayed at the one time – "_

"_This isn't an inn."_

_His brusque tone borders on harsh when he cuts her off, and she presses her lips together, taking the hint._

_She doesn't speak again until she feels the jeep slowing down – she blinks sleepily, she must have closed her eyes at some point. It's been a hell of a day. Well, week. Months, even._

_They're on what feels like an unpaved path, and there's a clearing up ahead with a very faint yellowish light illuminating – _

"_That's a trailer," she says, confused._

"_I know it's a trailer."_

_He slows the jeep to a crawl, and then parks it. They're close enough that she can see the little silver bullet-shaped trailer, like a tin can just barely more than actual size. _

"_Why did you bring me to a trailer?" She looks at him. "I don't understand. You said you were going to show me where you live."_

_He doesn't say anything._

"_Derek. You're not actually – you don't live in this – you can't actually live in a trailer!"_

_He's still quiet._

"_Answer me!" she demands; so much for taking the hint but she's starting to panic._

"_Did you have a question?"_

"_Yes I did, Derek. My question is – why did you bring me to this trailer when you're supposed to be showing me where you live?"_

_Her voice shakes a little – she's angry, that's why. _

"_What is this, some kind of joke?"_

_He doesn't respond._

"_Oh my god." His eyes are lowered, so she can't see his expression, but the answer is clear. "It's not a joke."_

..  
..

Here's something serious: her flight touches down in the Pacific Northwest on what would have been the twenty-fifth anniversary of their wedding.

(Her first one. His, too.)

Their silver anniversary – silver, the traditional gift for twenty-five years of marriage.

(She's pretty sure it only counts if you stay married the entire time. Still, twenty-five years have passed.)

They never made it to their fifteenth – that one's crystal, or their twentieth – china.

(Not that she was keeping track, not on purpose anyway.)

Still, though, twenty-five is silver.

(They didn't make it, of course: ten was their last landmark anniversary.)

She can't help but be darkly amused at the traditional gift for the tenth anniversary: it's tin.

_Tin._

(And the gift for the eleventh, the last year of their marriage: steel.)

Tin and steel.

Maybe the trailer wasn't as unexpected as she thought at the time.

..  
..

"_What did you expect?"_

"_Not this."_

_There's just enough light coming from the – whatever that thing is – to illuminate the half smile on his face. A smirk, really: he's enjoying her surprise. Her discomfort. _

_He used to do this same thing – but affectionately. The few times he dragged her camping, the hikes he'd talk her into by promising a nearby winery. It's just nature, Addie. It won't bite you. Come on, you like flowers when I send them to your office – are these so different? _

_That kind of thing._

_But this is different._

_This feels mean._

_It feels mean, and the ground feels soft under her feet, unsteady, when she slides down from the jeep. She has to pick her heels up carefully – wait, is she sinking?_

_It would be just like Derek to live on a plot of quicksand and just like him to somehow survive it too._

_Untouchable – that's her husband._

_She makes it about a foot before she turns back to him. _

"_I don't like it here," she says. "I want to leave."_

"_Call a cab," he suggests calmly. "It might take a while for them to get a driver out here, though – "_

"_Because we're in the middle of nowhere!" she explodes. She takes a deep, shaky breath, forcing herself to calm down. There's low light coming from the trailer, but everywhere else around them is dark. Very dark. The air is heavy with mist and she can hear crickets and some suspicious-sounding rustling in the distance, too. "Derek. You're really not going to drive me back, are you."_

"_I drove you here," he says stubbornly. _

"_Yes, but you didn't tell me – " _

_She stops talking._

_He played her, and maybe she deserved it. _

_The fantasy of sinking into a deep, hot bath vanished the moment she saw the trailer. She could laugh at that version of herself, not twenty minutes ago, who still believed it. She could cry._

"_Fine, I'll stay," she says._

"_That's generous of you." It's not too dark to see his smirk. He does offer her his arm though, even if it's in an exaggerated, isn't-my-wife-such-a-drama-queen sort of way._

_She takes it anyway; she's in no position to turn it down._

"_It's all – muddy," she says, lifting each foot in turn with care from the unpleasant surface._

"_The rain will do that."_

"_Yes, Derek. I know. And it rains every day. And we're in the woods. And you live in a trailer, Derek, a trailer! You knew I was thinking that you lived in – would you stop laughing at me?"_

_She whirls on him, angry, but the abrupt change of position makes her lose her footing. He actually grabs onto her – probably just a boy scout reflex – and it slows but doesn't really break her fall. _

_And then she's sitting on the ground with a muddy squelch that rolls her stomach, Derek's hand still on her arm. _

_He looks down at her. She looks up at him. _

_She's going to kill him if he – _

_He laughs._

_There's enough light emanating from the stupid trailer for her to see that, and to see him look a little guilty when he realizes she's in tears. _

_Furious tears, frustrated tears – but tears nonetheless._

"_Oh, come on, Addie, it's just a little mud." He offers her a hand up. "You're fine. You're covered in worse than that every day in the OR – hey!"_

_Because she's ignored his proffered hand to swat at him with her own muddy fingers. _

"_You must be loving this," she spits._

"_What gave it away?" His tone is light, like he can joke her out of being mad at him like he used to._

"_Leave me alone," she snaps, aware of how she must sound, still sitting square in the mud where she slipped. _

"_Look, would you just – " He squats down so they're eye to eye. "You're being ridiculous."_

"_Is that supposed to make me feel better?"_

"_I don't know. Maybe." He smiles at her, less mocking this time, but she's not buying it. _

"_You can stop looking so happy." She swipes at her face, leaving a muddy trail – he grabs her wrist to stop her a moment too late. "That's what you can do."_

"_Let me help you up," he offers again, but she doesn't let him._

_He waits in the mud outside the trailer while she gets herself to her feet on her own._

_It takes a while and she feels rather like a bug on its back, but she makes it._

_She ignores the hand he offers, again, and picks her way very carefully along the trail._

"_You could have lights."_

"_I don't need lights." He unlocks the front door. "I know the way."_

..  
..

It takes three hour drive from Portland to Seattle, at least without traffic. After a thankfully uneventful consult in Oregon, she sits behind the wheel of her rented jeep – advice from the man she spoke to on the phone, about the roads leading to his place.

There's traffic, but she doesn't mind.

It's the first time she's driven, _really_ driven, in a while.

She's relishes the feeling of her hands on the steering wheel: first at the proper ten and two, like Archie taught her on the Vineyard when she was a bashful fifteen and he needed a ride out to Squibnocket. Slowly, her hands start drifting to a more natural position. Once, she drove from Seattle to Los Angeles in another rented car, another assumed identity. Her hands slip to the base of the wheel where she's most comfortable, sometimes tapping the leather in time to the music coming from the radio.

She's alone, no hastening to pass a graham cracker to a hungry toddler or come up with new animal facts for a curious grade schooler or change radio stations at her husband's request.

How long has it been since she's driven this kind of distance, herself?

She's not sure, not really.

Jake does all the distance driving in their family. He insists he doesn't mind, that he likes it. He's protective, not wanting to burden her. She rides in the passenger seat and reads him directions when necessary, passes him coffee or a bottle of water and submits to his affectionate caresses – a modest pat to the thigh if the children are in the car, a more daring squeeze if they're not.

He'll jingle the keys on the way to the car, open the passenger side door for her – _don't worry, Addie, I'm driving, _even though she already knew that. There's room enough only for one driver: that's something that hasn't changed.

..  
..

_It's one room._

_The first thing she sees, when he opens the door – god, it's small, one room of dollhouse proportions and she has to suck in a quick gust of stale air when she gets the sensation the walls are closing in on her._

_Derek flicks on a light and his shoulders – comfortingly bulky in the past, now worryingly half the trailer's width – block her full view. She's pretty sure she's not missing much._

"_So?" He's smiling. "What do you think?"_

_She opens her mouth, then closes it again._

_What does she think?_

_It's a trailer._

_An actual trailer._

_She's fairly certain she's never been inside a trailer in her life and also that Derek knows, and is enjoying, that fact. _

_It's small. It's very small. The whole thing could fit twice in their master suite back home. And that's counting the miniscule area that must be a kitchen. There's a small couch on one side and a sad looking bed on the other. Blank coverlet, generic colored sheets she'd never choose. The mattress looks stiff and spare._

_She thinks of the walnut sleigh bed in their bedroom at home in Manhattan, the butter-soft leather couch she picked out with her husband in mind, nothing like the stiff antique furniture she grew up with. It was big enough for two tall adults to stretch out head to foot. Or head to head. Or, if they weren't too tired – far less often in the last few years – a few other and more creative positions too. _

_Derek loved that couch … at least he used to, anyway._

"_Well?" he asks._

_He's not going to let her get away with anything, is he. _

_(He'd say she deserves it, and he's probably right.)_

"_Well … it's a trailer." One that smells unfamiliar, of some kind of product she doesn't recognize – cologne or aftershave – and the sort of watery coffee she'd never buy. And something else she can't identify any further than knowing it's unpleasant._

"_It is a trailer. You're correct." He looks amused, which is annoying but it's better than looking disgusted, so she lets it go. "No wonder you were at the top of your class in school."_

"_You were at the top of some of them," she reminds him._

_His face softens for just a minute – maybe remembering medical school, maybe remembering her, before he grimaces and turns away to set down his bags._

"_Do you really live here?" she asks his back, and the tense set of his shoulders shouts his irritation with her louder than any words could._

"_Yes, I really live here." He turns around, looking tired. _

"_You've lived here all this time?"_

_He nods._

"_You could have told me," she blurts. "You could have given me some warning."_

"_And miss the look on your face?" _

"_It was a dirty trick." _

"_You want me to call that cab?" He holds out his blackberry like a peace offering … a vindictive one. _

_She doesn't answer, just revolves on the spot, slowly. It doesn't take long to take in the entire tiny space._

_It's modern looking, with clean shining surfaces and high end finishes, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a trailer. Her gaze is caught on the tiny kitchen again._

"_Is that an EZ Bake oven?" she asks, thinking of some of their smaller nieces. "Katie and Cora will be so jealous."_

"_All the appliances are state of the art, actually," he says, "but I wasn't aware you planned to break your lifelong streak of not cooking."_

_Fine, she walked into that one. _

_Just like she walked into this trailer._

_Derek is still watching her, waiting for her reaction. She doesn't want to reward him, not after how he misled her, but still … _

"_The refrigerator is tiny," she says, reaching out a finger and stopping short of the chrome surface._

"_But it does the trick." He pulls open the door and the overpowering stench of fish gushes out._

"_Derek!" _

_She staggers back, clutching her face. _

"_That's revolting." She's trying not to gag. _

"_No, that's freshly caught rainbow trout." He's beaming, oblivious to her distress … or enjoying it. "You haven't seen the lake yet, but the view … ."_

_She's not listening. _

_She pulls her hands away from her face and realizes they're caked with dirt._

_Ugh, she forgot about trying to wipe her eyes outside the trailer. _

_That's how shocking the trailer is: she actually forgot about the mud. _

_She looks down; the rest of her is filthy too. Wet and filthy._

_Wet and filthy and she hates Seattle and after seeing the tin can Derek's been living in, she's pretty sure she hates the trailer, too._

"_I'd like to clean up. Is there a bathroom?" she asks as politely as she can manage. _

"_No, you'll have to go in the woods," he says and then shakes his head at her when she makes a muted sound of horror. "Of course there's a bathroom, Addison." He points and she follows his finger._

"_It's tiny."_

"_I'm sorry it's not the Plaza," he says, raising an eyebrow._

_She scowls. "No, you're not."_

_The bathroom, meanwhile, is so small it might as well be the woods for its comfort and thinking about where the contents go when they're finished is enough to make her gag again._

_It's … a trailer._

"_Do you own this thing?" she asks when she's emerged with clean hands smelling of unfamiliar soap.. "Rent it, lease it, what?"_

"_I bought it," he says. "Not that that matters."_

"_It matters when we have joint finances, Derek. It's my trailer too."_

"_Congratulations," he says in a serious tone. "You co-own a great trailer."_

_She smiles in spite of herself, in spite of everything, and when he notices he smiles too. _

_For just one moment the trailer seems to swell in size._

_Then she shakes her head, claustrophobic again. "Derek … I'm filthy."_

_He looks at her muddy clothes. "So take a shower – yes, there's a shower," he adds before she can interrupt. _

"_I don't have anything to change into." She looks down at her muddy clothes, hearing the whine in her voice. He hates that tone and she knows it but she can't help it._

"_Take a shower and I'll find you something to change into," he says. _

_She purses her lips. _

"_I'll do you one better. If you can stop complaining for five minutes, I'll make you a drink."_

_Hmm. She considers it._

"_Five minutes?" _

_He nods, confirming the offer._

"_I don't know if I can promise that," she says. _

_He reaches out pulls open a tiny concealed door to – yes, a tiny shower. "Tell you what – I'll make the drink anyway, and maybe you'll surprise us both."_

..  
..

She expected the toddler she's never met – sleepy-eyed with something like peanut butter smeared on one round cheek – but Amelia's new hair is a surprise.

"You don't think it's too short?"

"I think it's perfect."

She means it: the angles flatter her heart shaped face.

"Didn't your mother say short hair can make you look old?"

Addison laughs in spite of herself, then clears her throat. "I can't believe you remember that."

Amelia shrugs. "It was pretty memorable."

She doesn't look old, though. Amelia's been the baby sister so long Addison has to search to see any signs of her aging at all: a few more lines around her eyes, maybe, the color of which is so familiar.

"You look good," she says. "You look wonderful."

She doesn't ask Amelia if she's found the shorter locks hard to get used to, the way Addison did the first time she cut her long hair. It took a while before she stopped reaching halfway down her back to draw a ponytail together, her hands swiping empty air. It was longer than that before she stopped feeling the tickle between her shoulder blades where her hair used to hang, like a phantom limb.

"And anyway," Addison says, "if you're old, then I'm ancient."

"And we both know you're not ancient. I've missed you, Addie," Amelia says when they're settled on the couch in the home Addison's never seen, twining one of the toddler's curls around a finger. "Hey – you should think about moving up here."

"To Seattle." Addison raises an eyebrow. "Really."

"… yeah, maybe not the best idea." Amelia grins at her. "But you could visit more often."

"So could you," she reminds her gently.

"I want to." Amelia looks down at her hands. "Your kids have gotten so big … ." Her voice trails off.

"They'd love to see you."

"We'll do it," Amelia says, just a shade too heartily. "We'll pick a time, a weekend or something." She pauses, then grins again. "How's Jake? Still hot?"

Addison shakes her head, suppressing a smile. "Fine," she says. "And … yes."

Amelia tucks the shorter hair Addison's still getting used to behind her ears. "He's a good guy, Addie. He really loves you."

"I know."

"You deserve it." Amelia settles back on the couch, stroking the baby's curls.

_That's what I'm afraid of._

It's a quick, uncharitable thought she'd never share. She just makes a self-deprecating gesture to her former sister-in-law and changes the subject to the toddler on her lap. His developmental milestones and cute habits fill the time until the doorbell rings.

Amelia pauses halfway to answer it. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"I'm sure." Addison uncrosses her legs in preparation to stand. "And what if I did – you'd hide me behind the drapes?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Addie." Amelia grins at her. "You're too tall for that – I'd have to stash you under the bed."

..  
..

_When she gets out of the shower, wrapped in the towel he left for her, he's sitting on the side of the bed with his drink. He doesn't invite her to join him and she isn't stupid enough to think that's the point. Derek has seemed repulsed by her since her arrival, and save a few kisses she's managed to steal, he's shown no interest in touching her at all._

"_How was your shower?" he asks without looking at her._

_She considers how to answer: it was an experience, Derek, that's what it was. It was me, your wife, in a wet phonebooth in a trailer with no visible source of clean water._

"_It was fine."_

"_Good." _

_She stands there in a towel, rivulets of water running down her back and pooling at her feet. He doesn't have a bathmat; that shouldn't surprise her. And the towel is a deep green; she'd never buy them in anything darker than dove grey and he knows it. _

_She wants her own shower, the oversized marble one she designed in their brownstone, with scalloped ledges for all their products and … sometimes for other things, too. She wants the cream-colored Turkish towels she selected and the fluffy bathmat that warms her feet. And her robe … she misses her robe. There's not even a stiff hotel-issued one for her here. _

"_Were you going to give me something to wear?" she asks finally, when he shows no signs of movement._

_He looks up at her like he's forgotten she's there. For a moment he doesn't move, and she wonders if this is all part of an elaborate revenge. Poor pathetic Addison, moved out to Seattle to win her husband back and he spent weeks refusing to even tell her where he lived, then let her fall in the mud outside a trailer and left her in nothing but a towel to find her way back._

_Drops of water run down her bare arms and she shivers a little. Not on purpose, not to manipulate, but he stands up, at least._

_She's warmer in a pair of his sweats and an old Bowdoin shirt she didn't realize he brought with him. She busies herself trying to scrub the mud off her skirt, the hem of her blouse, so she can let them dry and not have to go back to her hotel dressed like a teenaged boy. _

_It's hard, though, maneuvering enough space in the bathroom – maybe she should have used the kitchen … kitchenish thing, but there's not much room there either, plus then Derek's eyes will be boring into her back and – _

_Okay, fine. She moves to the kitchen, her skirt dripping on the floor now but that's really Derek's fault, and he's just calmly sitting on the stupid couch, drinking his stupid scotch._

"_I'm fine, really," she snaps. "Please don't offer to help."_

"_You want me to clean your clothes?" He sounds more amused than she'd prefer._

"_I want you to live somewhere with an actual sink, Derek!" She throws her hands up in frustration, droplets of water landing on both of them. "Or at least warn me that you live in a tin … shoebox … so I could have dressed for it."_

" … _so you're saying you don't like my trailer?" he asks. She can tell he's having trouble not smiling and she'd like to dunk him in the sink water at this point. If his big head could even fit._

"_Derek, it's a tin can in the middle of nowhere. Of course I don't like it. And I hate your towels," she adds. He doesn't look surprised by her addendum, so at least there's that._

"_You hate my towels, but you just dislike my trailer." He has that same tone, like he's laughing at her. "That's promising."_

"_I might hate your trailer."_

_He's standing up. Now what?_

_Oh. He's actually pouring her a drink. _

… _except he doesn't hand it to her, he holds it out of reach and she would definitely strangle him if she had any idea how to get back to civilization by herself._

_She takes a deep breath, not wanting him to know how much he's aggravating her. How little she likes this confined space._

_So she gestures at the glass in his hand, keeping her tone playful: "What happened to hospitality?" _

"_What happened to going five minutes without complaining?"_

"… _I couldn't do it," she admits. _

_There's a long pause when she thinks he's going to take away the cocktail, actually take it away, and she thinks she might scream._

_But he doesn't: he places it on the counter next to her. _

_Then she watches him settle in the tiny booth seating along the wall; the trailer is a cramped fishbowl so she can't actually tell whether he's trying not to look at her._

"_Derek … do you really like it here?" she asks before she can stop herself. _

_Maybe the trailer feels better when it's just Derek here, alone, without the baggage his wife brings. _

"_Of course I like it here."_

"_The trailer, I mean."_

"_I know what you mean," he says. "And yes, I like the trailer."_

_She takes a long sip of her drink – he poured it the way he likes it, at least. _

_That's something, right? A little something, but still something?_

_The drink helps, somewhat. She wraps both hands around the cold surface and just watches her husband for a while. He's drinking, his head turned as if he's looking out the window … or just looking away from her. _

"_You didn't buy the trailer just to mess with me?" she asks finally._

_He swivels in the booth to look at her for a long moment. "… not everything is about you, Addison."_

_..  
.._

"Addison. Hi. Amelia mentioned you were coming."

"I was in the area," Addison repeats, her mantra.

If the woman at the door is by Addison's presence, though, you'd never know it. She supposes Meredith has seen enough that the unexpected no longer exists. It's been almost a decade; her hair is still long, but age has softened her face. Addison's aware of her surgical success, but the impression she gets, upon seeing her again, is something different. She looks … maternal, a description supported by the children flanking her.

Two of them, in fact, seem determined to actually climb _up_ her. The sole boy settles down as Amelia ushers them in, but the little girl clings.

"Don't go," she says, sounding so much like Josie that Addison feels her heart tighten.

"El … I'm going to be back tonight, sweetie." She and Amelia exchange a look and then Meredith, with some effort, manages to move all three children further into the house. The boy wanders off – "don't break anything, Bailey," Meredith calls to him.

_Bailey_, that's right.

Meredith hoists the little girl higher in her arms, murmuring to her until the child – Ellis, that's her name, she remembers now – is giggling instead of crying.

"I should go." Meredith checks her watch, lowering Ellis to her feet. "You sure you want me to leave all three of these maniacs with you?" she asks Amelia.

"That's not fair, Meredith." Amelia jiggles the toddler on her hip; he's whimpering now, perhaps set off by Ellis. Derek's nieces and nephews used to do that, when they were little. "Zola's not a maniac," Amelia says with a smile.

"She has a point." Meredith turns to Addison. "I'm sorry. I've had some commitments in the evening and Amelia has been so great about helping with the kids. It's a little easier when they're in their own space."

Amelia, meanwhile, has busied herself offering a sippy cup to the baby – Leo, that's his name – and doesn't meet either woman's gaze.

Addison finds herself wondering if Amelia arranged the babysitting at her place to make herself available to Addison. Or because she didn't want Addison to see Meredith's house, the one she shared with Derek on the his lakefront land?

It's true she hasn't seen it – she flew in for the funeral, but didn't make it to the reception at the house. Henry had an ear infection and Jake was dealing with him single-handedly, so she stayed only long enough offer her condolences before she returned to California.

She hadn't considered the possibility, not really. Isn't it enough that she plans to –

"Mommy! Bailey said I couldn't play with his harmonica." Meredith's youngest is in tears. Halfway across the room, Addison sees the small blond boy who came in with them, the prized silver instrument in his fist.

Meredith squats down to talk to her on her level, then glances up at Amelia. "The harmonica is only for home, El. It's too loud for Leo."

"Leo doesn't mind," the little girl says. She looks up at Amelia. "Right?"

"Ooh, you know what?" Amelia raises her eyebrows. "I think Leo needs a new diaper. Hey, kids." She turns to Meredith's children. "Who wants to come with Auntie Amelia to change Leo?"

_Auntie Amelia_. The same way she signs her birthday cards to Henry and Josie. Of course Meredith's children would know her that way.

Bailey and Ellis, meanwhile, make no move to follow her, Ellis tucking a proprietary hand in her mother's belt loop.

"That's okay, Auntie Amelia can deal with rejection. We'll try again." Amelia grins. "Who wants to come with Auntie Amelia to play with the weirdly realistic train set Owen decided was a great idea to put in Leo's room?"

This produces a very different reaction, both of Meredith's younger children clamoring to follow Amelia and the baby from the room. Only Zola, who's been very quiet, stays behind.

"She's more interested in chemistry sets than train sets these days," Meredith explains, looking fondly at her daughter, and Zola nods.

"A scientist," Addison says. "That's impressive."

"You have to be good at science to get into medical school," Zola tells her.

"Yeah … this one's going to be a surgeon." Meredith rests an affectionate hand on her oldest's shoulder and they exchange a smile. The child – she must be ten or eleven by now, maybe even twelve – is strikingly beautiful. Even if it weren't obvious, Addison knows the story of her adoption. She is an adoptive mother herself. But she is struck by the similarities in their appearance anyway: wide eyes, prominent cheekbones, delicate builds. It makes no sense and all the sense, the way Henry's smile is so much like Jake's that strangers have commented on their resemblance. Maybe love can make people look alike.

"A surgeon." Addison smiles at the girl. "Well. You have a great surgeon to learn from." She glances at Meredith.

Zola nods. "And my dad was a great surgeon too. A brain surgeon."

Meredith glances at Addison, and then draws her daughter a little closer. "Actually, Zozo, you know what … she knew Daddy."

"You did?" Zola turns to Addison now, interested. "You're Auntie Amelia's friend, right?"

Addison nods; it's close enough.

"Are you a brain surgeon too?" Zola asks.

"No." Addison smiles at her. "But I went to medical school with … your dad."

"Oh." Zola considers this, touching the end of one of her braids. "Who got better grades?" she asks.

Meredith looks amused. "Not everything is a competition, sweetie."

She and Addison exchange a surprisingly communicative wordless glance: _definitely Derek's daughter._

Zola is still looking at her, apparently expecting an answer.

"Sometimes he did," Addison says truthfully, "and sometimes I did. We used to study together," and then she wonders if she's saying too much.

_There was a time when you thought of me as your best friend._

Zola looks like she might have more questions, but Meredith's youngest interrupts before she can ask, running back into the room with a story that Addison is fairly certain involves bumping her knee on a locomotive, but her articulation is jumbled up with tears; luckily, Meredith seems to understand more than she does.

Zola sympathizes like a sweet older sibling, reminding Addison of Henry, joining in the conversation related to the little girl's apparently invisible injury.

This leaves Addison, who finds her attention drawn to the small boy who's approached Meredith's other side. It's the first good glimpse of him she's had.

He's blond.

He's very blond, but the set of his small face is unmistakable.

"He looks so much like him," Addison says, surprised by the way her voice catches in her throat. No need to identify _him_; they both know.

Meredith looks fondly at the little boy, reaching down to ruffle his blond hair with her free hand.

"You think?"

Addison nods. "He has your coloring, but his features, um … ."

She stops talking, a little embarrassed. Meredith's marriage to Derek was shorter than her own, but by any measure – children, _til death do you part_, it was more successful. But it was a different sort of marriage, here in Seattle aware from the sometimes oppressive, sometimes embracing Shepherd clan. Unlike Addison, Meredith won't have been confronted with scores of youthful photos at every family gathering. Addison knows Derek's childhood face better than her own, with its big pale eyes and infantile version of his distinctive adult nose.

"His mother … ." Again, Addison doesn't finish the sentence.

"Yeah." Meredith shifts her daughter in her arms, toying with one of her pigtails. "We're not really in touch."

Ellis wriggles to get down then, apparently healed, and Meredith sets her on her feet. Zola takes her hand and the three children are gone as quickly as they arrived, presumably joining Amelia in the other room.

"I don't think his mother likes me very much," Meredith says when they're alone.

Ah. That's a familiar feeling.

"Well. I know she didn't like me very much," Addison admits.

Meredith looks at her. "She blames me. She wouldn't say it, but she does."

"That's not fair," Addison says immediately. "It's not your fault."

"Derek was here, in Seattle, because of me. Mom logic, I guess." Meredith shrugs a little. "My fault."

It's the first time Meredith has said his name to her. Addison hears more of Washington than Boston in its first syllable. _Dare. _

This whole trip feels like a dare.

"If we're going to point fingers," Addison says, keeping her tone light, "he moved to Seattle in the first place because of me … which makes it my fault."

They're both silent for a moment.

If Addison hadn't slept with Mark.

If Derek hadn't caught them.

If he hadn't moved across the country.

If he never met Meredith.

… if Addison hadn't slept with Mark.

She's been living with this guilt for a decade and a half, some of the old hurts finally soothed by her new husband after Mark's death. Derek's was unexpected. It was a blow that knocked the wind out of her, but it was years ago.

Still, though. It comes back to her, sometimes.

She looks at the woman who was her ex-husband's wife.

"He wanted to be in Seattle," Addison says. "He wanted to be in Seattle with you."

… none of them thought he would end up dead.

She feels a little foolish afterward – presumptuous, saying it – but Meredith doesn't look offended at all. Her face is soft with reminiscence that feels private.

Bailey runs in again then asking for a cookie, Ellis on his heels, and the look on the little boy's face is so painfully reminiscent of Derek's childhood photos that tears fill her eyes.

It's time for her to go.

She makes an excuse about the drive so she can leave before they fall and forces herself to wave back at the three small faces in the warmly lit window as she pulls out down the drive, alone.

..  
..

_He gives her privacy to move out of the trailer alone, and it's typical Derek Shepherd: the gesture probably looks generous to anyone else, anyone on the outside. What a good guy, looking out for his disgraced ex-wife. Saving her the embarrassment of seeing him after she moved all the way to Seattle for him and he left her. He's so thoughtful._

… _that, or he just can't be bothered to see her. They exchange a few terse emails about timing. She doesn't ask for help, and he doesn't offer it and she ends up alone in the trailer, packing her things and trying not to think about what a complete and utter mess she's made of her life._

_A part of her would like to fling her belongings around, scream, pound the walls of this tin prison and let loose everything that's been choking her since she reached into the pocket of her husband's tuxedo jacket after the prom. Or … if she's really honest with herself … before that, even._

_The problem is she doesn't even have enough belongings here for a really good, cathartic disaster. _

_Her life is a mess, but the trailer will stay clean. There's an aphorism her mother-in-law used to say, along with other ones that always seemed to point to Addison as not good enough: when life is a mess, keep your house clean. _

_This isn't her house, though._

_And she's not going to cry, not here._

_She didn't like it, from the first moment she saw it. I hate the trailer, that's what she used to tell Derek, sometimes daily, sometimes in lieu of "good morning." _

_I hate the trailer, Derek! She stomped her feet inches from his odorous fishing vest. Hate, hate!_

_It shouldn't be hard to leave someplace you hate._

_So she packs neatly and efficiently and pretends she has any control over her life right now._

_When she's finished, she leaves her key on the table for him. And then she stands there, staring at it, small and silver. She's tempted to leave something else with it, but what?_

_A note? A horse's head, maybe?_

_She smirks at her own joke – it's good, because she'll be her only company from now on. At least she amuses herself._

_What would she write in a note, anyway?_

_Dear Derek, _

_Thank you so much for giving me a chance to win you back and save our marriage by giving up my life in New York and moving across the country to live in a tin can in the middle of the woods where – I'm pretty sure – you're still disappointed I haven't been eaten by a bear. I guess you win some, and you lose some. Especially me. Hey, don't give up yet – maybe we'll get lucky and a ferry will sink or a plane will crash or something. Have a nice life. _

_Love, Addison. _

_PS For future reference, Ethiopian coffee beans are the ones you like. You're going to have to buy them yourself now, and I don't think even you deserve a lifetime of the swill you were drinking when I got to Seattle._

… _yeah, maybe she'll skip the note. _

_She stands in the middle of the trailer for one more moment, at the yawning gaps in the cabinets where he made reluctant room for her things. _

_She'll leave with her bags, with a lump in her throat, with her head held high enough that no one will know how long she sat on the edge of the bed in here, holding Meredith Grey's tiny lace panties in her hands and contemplating the painful end of her marriage. _

_She'll leave aware that she'll never see this trailer again. _

_Just like she's aware that her absence won't affect him. Not really, not the way his will affect her. _

_He gave her a key to the trailer, but he never really let her in. _

..  
..

The patchy clouds let in unexpected sunlight through the windshield as she makes her way to a town she's never heard of. The route is tricky at first, but she gets into the rhythm of it.

The views are beautiful.

With distance and time, she can admit these views are beautiful. She loves the beach, but the mountain air tastes refreshingly different when she lowers the windows to feel the wind in her hair.

It's so green here, bursting with life.

_Our house in the Hamptons had trees, Addie. You didn't mind those._

She follows one winding rural road and then another, snow-capped peaks guiding her way like the North Star in the Christmas story – appropriately enough, with the abundance of seasonal-looking spruce.

_It's Christmas, Derek. We love Christmas. _

She has to slow down; gravel crunches under the tires of her rented jeep. The rolling hills are green-gold now. She passes a field of yellow daffodils so bright they don't seem real. Squat apple-blossom trees look discreet by comparison. The windows are all the way down now – her hair must be a mess.

It is a mess. She doesn't have a chance to fix it, either, because the man she spoke to on the phone is waiting for her as she ambles up the unpaved driveway. She wouldn't even recognize it as a drive, but she can see two vehicles at the end of it, just before a thicket of trees, and she follows its loose demarcation.

Her shoes wobble a bit on the soft ground as she steps down from the jeep, automatically slipping her sunglasses back over her eyes and smoothing down both her hair and her skirt.

The man waiting for her is dressed casually – he's younger than she is, thirties probably, with a thick beard she thinks is probably more hipster than farmer, though she can't know for sure. He's wearing a flannel shirt and jeans and the hand he holds out for her to shake is warm as if he's just been working the land.

"You made it," he says.

"Yeah." She smiles, a little embarrassed. "It's nice out here," she says, though that doesn't really do it justice.

"It's all right. Wait 'til you see the other side of it." The man – _Calvin, call me Cal_ – points vaguely beyond the trees. "Can't park over there, but the view … " he smiles at her. "You'll see."

She follows him carefully along the path; he doesn't mock her choice of footwear or clothing but she can tell they haven't gone unnoticed.

_That's right, you're a flannel-wearing, woodchopping fisherman now. _

He pushes aside some of the dense shrubbery for her and when she steps through the trailer is immediately visible in a grassy clearing.

"See?" he's looking at her, gauging her reaction.

She stammers out praise for the view – undeniably beautiful – but her gaze is captured by the trailer.

It looks – exactly the same, and completely different, all at once.

There are colorful flags draped over the door, and jaunty striped awnings above the windows. The same little porch she remembers, but with weatherproof Adirondack chairs she's never seen before. Two of them.

_There is a land called Passive-Aggressiva, and I am their queen._

Someone else lives here with him, maybe.

_What am I supposed to do, just wait for it to pass?_

"She's in pretty good shape," Cal is saying and she tries hard to focus. "The last owners let some of the siding rust but it was pretty easy to fix."

Addison nods, hoping she looks like she's paying attention.

_Hear me out here, you know what we should do? We should just … blow up the trailer. _

"What do you think?" Cal asks.

_Kaboom. _

He's looking at her curiously.

_Derek, have you ever thought that even if I am Satan, and an adulterous bitch, that I still might be the love of your life?_

"Good," she says, forcing herself to breathe deeply. "It looks good."

He smiles at her now, seemingly satisfied; he's giving the trailer a fond, almost paternal look. "When you called me … I thought you were going to make me an offer."

She just shakes her head.

"I was glad you didn't, to be honest," he continues. "I'm pretty fond of her and let's just say I'm not ready to part ways."

_It's a great trailer._

"No," she manages to say. "I just wanted to see it, that's all."

"Honey?" A bare-faced woman, messy bun on the top of her head, pokes her head out of one of the windows. "Everything okay – oh, hi," she says when she sees Addison.

"It's the lady I was telling you about," Cal says. "From California. The one who wanted to see the trailer."

For a fleeting moment she wonders what else he said to her.

"So, uh, Addison."

She looks up at her name.

"You came all this way – you want to see the inside too?" Cal asks.

Oh.

All this time, and she hadn't actually considered that.

The inside of the trailer.

"Um … sure." She smiles in what she hopes is an encouraging way, and Cal nods in response.

"You may not recognize it," he says heartily. "We've made some changes to the interior."

"Changes," she echoes as he leads her up the porch stairs.

She can hardly breathe. She never thought she'd be here again.

The steps where she sat for hours in chilly drizzle next to half eaten boxes of Chinese takeout.

_Derek, are you done? Hurting me back, I mean. I just need to know, because if not, I'll have to … special order a thicker skin or something. _

The porch where they sat side by side, drinking beer.

_That's all I'm saying._

The door she opened, alone, Derek's tuxedo jacket draped around her shoulder. The last time she could have said they were trying_. Trying_, they used to say to each other, like a mantra. _Trying. We're trying._

"Just a few changes," Cal says and he pulls open the screen as the woman who stuck her head out the window steps back to let her in. "We had to make room," he adds.

"I'm Jessie," she says, offering a hand to shake and then Addison sees the swell of the woman's belly. She must be at least thirty weeks.

Jessie looks down with a self-conscious smile, but pride is obvious in her face.

"Addison," she says, shaking the woman's hand. It's surprisingly small. "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

She asks the usual questions – _when are you due how do you feel do you know the gender have you picked a name _to help her get over the threshold.

It works.

They're on _maybe Margot if it's a girl, with a t_, and she's inside.

She's actually inside the trailer.

For the first time in fourteen years.

It smells different – that's the first thing she notices.

She stands there, she inhales, and she realizes it immediately.

They say you can't smell your own environment, your own home, but the trailer always had an identifiable smell to her. Maybe she should have taken the hint. It was something woodsy, whether real or cologne-based she never found out. A hint of the fish that made her stomach turn in the mornings. The charcoal scent of the outdoor grill.

That was then.

Now she picks up hints of lavender – Jessie seems the type to use essential oils around the house – and eucalyptus. There's some drying on a hook outside the bathroom door, leaves curling into dust. The heady scent of coffee clings to the tiny kitchen. And there's a fresh, clean fragrance emanating from the other side of the trailer, where a small, narrow glider and the tiniest of bassinets have replaced the couch. The scent is sweet and almost familiar – it occurs to her they may have already been washing baby clothes in preparation for the new addition.

The thought, for some reason, makes her sad.

She turns to the other side, where an unfamiliar corduroy spread covers the bed, with the sort of bolster pillows that used to annoy Derek. He never liked what he called _that fluffy stuff_, and she chose her battles wisely when it came to accessories.

_We used to be really good at this._

It's the same bed.

_We're going to keep doing this until we get it right. _

She pivots in place and sees the little spice rack that's practically in the bathroom – the one she used to point out when complaining about the trailer, sometimes – is still there. She has the sudden urge to grab one of the glass bottles and check its contents.

They look the same.

How can they – but they do.

She imagines herself grabbing a glass bottle and then another, shaking it out, breathing it in. _That cumin was here when I lived here. This paprika knew Derek alive. The marjoram remembers when he was still trying to love me._

She's losing it – she must be.

She shakes her head to clear it; Cal and Jessie are standing side by side – the trailer doesn't seem too small for them both, somehow – looking at her expectantly.

"You've, uh, you've done a great job," she says. "I hardly recognize it."

"Yeah?" Cal seems pleased.

Jessie smiles at him, then glances toward the other side of the trailer. "It's not much, for the baby."

"It's everything the baby needs." Addison glances at the bassinet again. She doesn't provide credentials – obstetrician, mother of two – recognizing they have no place here.

She just compliments their eye for design, their sense of space, and is relieved when conversation turns to the view.

Cal holds the door for her as she leaves, and she's glad. She's not sure she would have wanted to open it one last time, touch the metal handle that always seemed sticky, for some reason. It's his left hand on the door, and he has a wedding band – one of those modern gunmetal looking ones, thick and silver.

Twenty-five years ago, Derek put a ring on her finger.

_There was a time when I thought you were the love of my life._

He vowed to love her forever, and she did the same thing. Fourteen years ago, she saw the trailer for the first, and then the last, time.

_We're trying_, they said. _We're trying._

She picks her way carefully down the front steps.

_Derek, I hate the trailer! Hate, hate!_

Cal and Jessie both walk her out; a large, shaggy mutt joins them for the trip. She can tell by Jessie's gait she usually walks faster, but the pace suits Addison's shoes. Cal doesn't seem to mind.

"Thank you again," she says when they reach the jeep. "You … have a beautiful home."

"How long did you say you lived in Seattle?" Jessie asks.

"Um, about a year."

"Not that long."

"No," she admits, glancing past the couple to the thicket of trees concealing the trailer from view.

"Did you like it? Washington, I mean."

She must look confused.

"It's just, you're all – dressed up." Jessie's expression isn't unfriendly. "You're from Los Angeles, right?"

Addison nods; it's easier than explaining. She follows Jessie's gaze to her shoes – it's a modest heel for her, three inches, but she gets the message.

"It was my husband's trailer," she says after a moment.

It's the first time in fourteen years she's said that word without the _ex_ in front of it, to refer to her first husband. Half that many since _husband_ has referred to a different man entirely. But somehow, the term seems right.

"Oh." Jessie nods, like her answer makes sense – and maybe it does. She, too, is a wife.

"But you lived in the trailer together?" Cal looks from one of them to the other. "Full time?"

She nods.

They're both waiting. They want a summary, an epitaph for her life in the Seattle woods.

If only it could be that simple.

"It wasn't always easy," she says finally.

She looks one last time toward the clearing. She's certain if she could see through the thicket of trees, she'd glimpse the miniature bassinet where a new life will sleep in the old trailer.

She knows she will remember this moment, even if she'd rather not.

So she smiles at the pregnant woman with her open freckled face, at the swelling in her midsection announcing the imminent growth of their family, at her flannel-clad husband with a proud arm slung around her shoulder.

"But I didn't hate the trailer," she says. "Not really."

..  
_end  
_..

_Thank you for reading. I would love to know your thoughts, and I hope you'll review and let me know. I appreciate every comment._


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